


Asphodel and Wormwood

by bookishteddy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishteddy/pseuds/bookishteddy
Summary: Beauxbaton student, Hermione Granger, is familiar with Hogwarts due to her potions apprenticeship with Professor Severus Snape. A tutelage that she loves despite the fact that his godson is a miserable individual to be around.When the Triwizard Tournament brings three schools together Hermione realizes that there's a lot she doesn't know - about magic, life, and the state of the wizarding world.*AU, non-canon compliant, gray!Hermione - I don't own these characters; just playing around in my favorite world*
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 70
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

Pushing an errant brown curl out of her face Hermione shot an exasperated glance at her friend, frustrated that between the two of them only she had managed to become disheveled during their travels. Her blonde counterpart couldn’t help that she was, as always, effortlessly put together and gave the brunette girl a sly wink before silently casting a beauty spell that forced Hermione’s offending curls into beautiful submission.

“Beaucoup mieux,” Fleur whispered with a devious grin that Hermione couldn’t help but return. It was hard to be stoic when she was moments away from sharing with her dearest friend the place that she called home during the summer holidays. 

The anxious tension lingering in her chest was an unfamiliar feeling. As a member of Ombrelune, a tight grip on emotions was expected. The predilection towards logical thinking, cold demeanor, and manipulation that described her house didn’t reconcile well with this apprehension. This self-conscious feeling was foreign to the witch, who had spent most of her life assured of her own talents and abilities. 

Knowing that Fleur understood English well despite her preference for her native French, Hermione cooly remarked, “I appreciate your assistance, ma moitié. It is important that I put my best foot forward while visiting Hogwarts.”

“Your phrases are nonsensical, it doesn’t matter which foot you step into Hogwarts with. Your potion master will make sure you are welcome, no?” Fleur’s heavy accent floated through their carriage with a graceful elegance only known to Veela. She ran a hand down the front of her already wrinkle-free white blouse and straightened the black ribbon that circled under her collar. 

Professor Snape’s glacial expression flooded her memory. Just two fortnights ago, he had extended to her an offer for an official apprenticeship. An invitation that was unprecedented for someone who was only halfway done with her schooling, especially by a Master that wasn’t employed by her own school. Beuaxbaton, however, didn’t put very much weight on the art of potionry, instead of focusing on the more delicate magic of transfiguration and charms. 

The opportunity had been an unexpected surprise following her fourth summer of interning under the stoic Potions Master. In the comfortable silence enveloping the carriage, she allowed herself to recall their first encounter. Her blood status had been unceremoniously declared by the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.

“Severus,” the elder gentleman had stated, “I’m pleased to present you with Miss Granger, This young woman is a muggle-born witch, and she’s shown great talent at potion-making.”

Hermione’s right eye twitched slightly at the memory of her contempt toward the well-known wizard, a feeling that was born during those initial moments but had only grown in severity since then. Such blatant addressing of blood status was taboo at Beauxbatons, seen as an attempt to water down an individual's magical abilities by their lineage’s perceived faults. Regardless of his intent that day, her offense wouldn’t go away quietly. 

With what she now knew was his characteristic sneer plastered on his face, Professor Snape had simply replied to his superior with a curt, “My main concern is her ability to brew Albus, leave me to determine if this colossal waste of my time will be a regular occurrence.” 

Waste his time she did. For the last four summers, she had made the trip to the Scottish countryside to absorb as much knowledge as he was willing to part with, and he was stingy during the early days. Hermione understood his hesitancy because she would have been the same way. It was rather serendipitous that her private tutelage was under a Slytherin, a house whose core values were a near-exact replica of Ombrelune. 

Snape, although never expressly complementary, had told her at the end of the first summer that she wasn’t completely disappointing. During the second year, he had demanded that Occlumency be added to her summer curriculum - setting the precedent for him to add additional lessons at his leisure. Since then, they’d also added dueling to their regimen. 

All of the “brute” magic that she’d thirsted for at Beauxbatons was at her fingertips, and she felt reaffirmed in the belief that no matter her blood status she was a witch to be reckoned with. Albus Dumbledore, for all his joviality, could take his inability to hold social decorum and kindly leave her alone. 

Speaking of decorum, a squeal of delight pulled her out of the memories as the Abraxan pulled carriage came to a gentle halt on the front lawn of Hogwarts. The duo, alone in the spacious carriage to allow the school's choice of champion to prepare herself, shared a meaningful look as they gathered their hats and straightened their pleated outer robes.

“I know that I am prepared, but I worry that I will fail Beauxbatons if I am indeed selected to represent our brothers and sisters,” Fleur whispered with her back turned toward her companion. 

Grabbing Fleur’s hand in a rare show of affection, only permitted due to their seclusion, Hermione’s voice held a conviction that would have left a lesser witch flinching, “You will win this tournament, and I will do whatever it takes to help you. The man you call my Potions Master isn’t my ma moitié, this is what is most important.”

Finally collecting themselves and climbing out of the carriage, the blond part-veela walked ahead of the brunette and threw a captivating smile over her shoulder with a parting comment, “Before the serious business begins, we must find the most handsome boys to occupy our free time before the other girls make a claim on them!”

“Free time,” Hermione thought to herself with a scoff before relenting, “We’ll just wait and see how handsome they are before assuming there will be free time.”  
-

The room that they’d been told was called the Great Hall was rather plain compared to the serene dining chambers filled with the choir of Wood Nymphs they’d left behind in the Pyrenees mountains. At least she thought so until she looked up and saw that the ceiling was enchanted to display the night sky - the constellations that she’d memorized as a child visible despite the fact that they were indoors. 

She often wondered how she’d ever lived without a knowledge of magic. 

“Hermione,” Fleur called, drawing her attention back to the conversation with several other girls in powder blue hats. 

Pushing her blonde hair behind her shoulder, she casually looked around the room and added, “What do you make of the charmants messieurs of Hogwarts?”

Hermione’s expression remained unreadable as she followed Fleur’s line of sight where it had stopped on a young man seated at the table full of students wearing blue ties. Ravenclaw, if she remembered correctly; those who valued intelligence. A sentiment she could relate to, although she was sure that the young man practically drooling over her friend did not currently have academic pursuits on his mind. 

Sparing a glance at the other tables it came as surprise to her that it wasn’t just the part-veela who had garnered the attention of the males around the Great Hall, it appeared that the effortless and feminine composure ingrained in the Beauxbaton students was appealing. Unbeknowst to their new companions, the female students from the south of France had been taught to use this attention to their advantage if a witch or wizard was bold enough to make it so obvious. Subtlety, after all, was a virtue. 

“Oh please, give the poor boy a break,” she chastised before reaching for her glass. Pumpkin juice was not a common beverage in France, but it was one she’d grown fond of during her visits to the castle in the past. 

Evangaline, a red-haired 7th-year student, placed her hand on Hermione’s arm before whispering, “It would appear that you’ve caught the attention of one of the serpentine men.” 

“There’s nothing appealing about the boys here, in fact, I’ve almost resigned myself to the fact that -” 

Whatever veiled insult she had been about to give to the entirety of the Hogwarts student body was effectively ended by the entrance of the final school into the Great Hall, only a faint whisper left her mouth. Regrettably, it would appear that even impeccably educated debutantes could fall victim to teenage angst. 

“Oh mon Dieu.” 

Dressed in blood-red robes, wrapped in fur cloaks that looked soft to the touch the young witches and wizards marching into the dining hall exhibited stern confidence that vibrated with power. Watching their Headmaster, a known Death Eater, stand near Professor Snape at the end of the head table, the pieces fell into place - dark magic, an area of education that was lacking in all her academic pursuits to this point. 

A smirk worked its way onto her face. Tapping a manicured nail on the table to get the attention of her classmates she whispered, “Those, my sisters, are men.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't currently have a Beta reader, so all the mistakes are my own! 
> 
> I don't speak French, but here are my rough translations:   
> Beaucoup mieux - much better  
> ma moitié - my other half, used as a term of endearment  
> charmants messieurs - young men  
> Oh mon Dieu - oh my goodness


	2. The Seduction of Uncertainty

It came as a surprise to the curly-headed brunette that Hogwarts classes included a mix of young men and women. The courses at her own school were not combined, opting to keep the student body separated until the start of the 5th year - after aptitude tests had narrowed the courses into more of an individualized curriculum. 

The Durmstrang delegation, like the Beauxbaton students, separated themselves into discrete groups of boys and girls and didn’t intermingle with any of the other school’s students. She reasoned, with a passing thought, that Durmstrang must have a similar tradition of separating the boys and girls in the classroom setting. Comparatively, the students native to the castle were rambunctiously walking around and speaking loudly to their friends across the room. 

More disturbing yet was that the differences in behavioral expectations were even more evident now than they’d been the night before at dinner. In her periphery, she noticed that a girl with pin-straight black hair that rested just above her shoulders was perched on someone’s lap. It took an effort to school the look of disapproval that wanted to work its way onto her face. Madame Maxime would be appalled. 

Frowning in distaste at the students surrounding her, a lanky ginger caught her attention as he used his wand to fly a note to another boy that she recognized immediately as Harry Potter. A quick study of his robes identified him as a Gryfindor, a piece of information she tucked in the back of her mind for safekeeping - you never know when you need a self-sacrificing accomplice. Having decided that the knotted wood desk in front of her was more interesting than her new classmates, she averted her gaze to her work table and breathed in the comforting smell of the potions classroom that felt like her home away from home. 

The bitter smell of Skele-Gro lingered in the room, a remnant of presumably the last classes brew; disappointing since they’d been upperclassmen and she first learned the potion at the age of 12. Professor Snape had warned her that none of the students she’d be in class with had a particular talent for potionry apart from maybe his godson, a platinum blonde boy named Draco Malfoy. She’d met him in passing a handful of times over her junior apprenticeship and hadn’t been impressed, but that may have been more of a result of his tendency to call her a mudblood under his breath than his brewing talents. His silver eyes, although begrudgingly alluring, always looked at her in distaste. A look that she was sure echoed from her own features during their interactions. Malfoy, in her opinion, was proof that good breeding did not ensure proper etiquette. 

An eerie quietness had settled over the room as her new Mastery Instructor exited his private office with a vaguely disappointed look on his face, one that also held anger, “That’ll be 10 points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson. In the future, try to refrain from making me regret being your Head of House in front of our esteemed guests.”

The black-haired girl scrambled to her own seat, although there was no indication of embarrassment on either of the culprits' faces. In fact, Malfoy dared to send a cheeky wink to a classmate across the room who was also wearing a green tie. 

“Such a waste of potential,” Hermione thought to herself. “He’d perhaps be a force to be reckoned with if he learned that there is an appeal in the unknown - the seduction of uncertainty.” 

A throat clearing toward the entrance to the classroom further interrupted the start of the lesson. Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, nodded his head toward Snape in acknowledgment before his deep voice boomed through the chamber, “Severus if you can spare a moment. There is a pressing matter we need to discuss.”

A flash of irritation sparked in the professor’s eyes, “How convenient for these incapable students that my class seems to be doomed today. Is this matter more important than my instruction?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise, old friend.”

His dark robes billowing behind him, the potion’s classroom door shut effectively ending any chance of eavesdropping on the conversation taking place in the corridor. Hermione opted to waste time reorganizing her parchment and quills that were laid out in front of her. The hairs on her arms stood at attention as the warmth of a foreign body settled over her left shoulder. 

“Tu es très belle,” a velvety smooth voice crooned into her ear. The accent was definitely not Eastern European, which meant that the speaker was firmly placed in the undesirable column in Hermione’s mind. Despite her best intentions at remaining unaffected a small laugh escaped her lips at the words.

“Which one of my classmates taught you that phrase just for you to waste it on me? French isn’t my primary language, and I’m not interested,” her tone was calm, as she allowed the dismissive body language she displayed to portray just how unimpressed she was. 

Instead of being deterred the body behind her moved close, unnecessary body-to-body contact between students was not permitted in public at Beauxbaton and the taboo she was an inactive participant in made her frustration peak. Turning around, her tongue was ready to deliver the proper lashing that Professor Snape hadn't provided his awful godson.

Her honey-brown eyes met the unsettlingly deep brown ones of a young man who was likely more handsome than even he, with all of his obvious confidence, was aware of. Slightly embarrassed, she broke eye contact and followed the lines of his face; her gaze lingering on his high cheekbones and deep skin. Fleetingly, she wondered why she'd dismissed the Hogwarts students so quickly last night.

Then, the reason for dismissal became clear as the boy leaned down so that his eyes were at equal height with hers and said, "Blaise Zabini, but I'm sure you already knew that. I believe a friend of yours took pity on me after you denied me the luxury of your attention last night in the Great Hall."

Hermione picked a non-existent piece of link off of her powder blue outer robes. Spell broken, her words were knives even though a polite smile graced her face, "A proper woman has no reason to pity a capable wizard. Is this your way of admitting that you are lacking in some way?"

Placing his schoolbag on the countertop beside her, Blaise smirked as he took the empty seat to her right, "Oh love, I'd be more than happy to show you all the ways in which I'm capable. Where would you like me to start?"

"Zabini," the blonde-haired Slytherin that she would have much preferred to ignore hissed toward the duo, quiet enough that potential eavesdroppers weren't alerted to his comment. "Care to explain why you're tarnishing our House's reputation by speaking to a mudblood?"

A product of her education, Hermione kept a blank expression on her face hearing the slur. That didn't mean that anger wasn't threatening to erupt from her, reflexively her hand wrapped around her wand in preparation to cast a hex. A moment passed before Snape re-entered the room and walked to the front of the class. Passing his new apprentice, he assessed her partner with a careful gaze letting out a grunt of disapproval. Her new partner, however, undeterred by the previous comment, wore a Cheshire cat-sized grin on his face.

"Brewing a passable potion would suffice to start," she whispered, irritation evident in her tone, in response to the boy's previous query.

Chuckling in what she now bookmarked as his distinct tenor tone, Blaise only cheekily replied, "Then start we will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More world-building and character introductions xx
> 
> I don't have a Beta reader so any mistakes are my own! 
> 
> Here's my rough French to English translations for the chapter:
> 
> Tu es très belle - You are very beautiful


	3. 655 Years of Comparison

Students started to leave the room, their benches scraping against the damp stone floors with unpleasant screeches as they left for their next class. The familiar hum of excited energy that surrounded the beginning of a school semester still lingered amongst the group - that or everyone was excited to leave the dungeon that held the potions classroom. Hermione remained seated; she had a block of free time and wanted to prep potion ingredients before reviewing some arithmancy notes. Blaise, however, was hovering and in an attempt to speed up his departure she looked at him expectantly with a brown eyebrow raised in question.

“For what it’s worth, your blood status isn’t a factor to me,” he casually remarked with a shrug of his shoulder as he stuffed his school materials, rather unceremoniously, into his bag.

Eyes narrowing with suspicion she countered, “Forgive me for being blunt, but slumming it with muggle-borns isn’t going to gain you any favor with your classmates. As I said, I’m not interested. You’re better off trying your luck with someone else.”

After he tilted his head to the side in what appeared to be acceptance of her argument, Hermione turned her attention back to the parchment in front of her where she was listing potion materials to prepare.

Warm breath hit her ear as Blaise suddenly leaned in to whisper, “You're not fooling me, love. Who wouldn’t want to be friendly with the young witch who’d won the approval of Nicolas Flamel?”

She felt her cheeks redden and her eyebrows shoot up underneath her bangs at his words. Monsieur Flamel, impressed by Hermione’s entrance exam scores and her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, had taken a liking to the young witch when she started at Beauxbaton. One of her fondest memories with him had occurred before the end of her first academic term when the older man had covered her small hands with his wrinkled ones and with a twinkle in his eye declared, “You, my dear, are going to outshine even the brightest witches of generations before you.”

In her memory, she can hear her timid reply, “How could you possibly know that?”

“665 years of comparisons,” he’d looked at her with pride.

The alchemist and his wife, Perenelle, had welcomed her into their family with open arms despite the fact that neither of her parents was magical. They’d opened her eyes to the world of alchemy and the power in mastering difficult magic. Prior to their deaths, the Flamel’s had decided to leave her with their manor, along with all of its contents, and a sizable endowment to use for educational endeavors since they had no children. The possessions, although generous, didn’t fill the space in her life they’d left when they’d been taken from her. Yet another offense on Dumbledore's record.

Knowledge of her relationship with the Flamels was not widely known, kept secret in an attempt to give her the opportunity to make a name of her own - a request made by the alchemist himself. Turning to make eye contact with the boy who she was beginning to realize she may have underestimated, she simply responded, “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”

“Of course not,” he smirked and finally looped his bag over his shoulder, “But you should know that I’m a very capable wizard, and I know when to align myself with a strong witch.”

Ambition was a characteristic of both light and dark magic users; non-exclusive to either group because there was always at least one person willing to adopt the Machiavellian belief system of the end justifying the means. The Slytherin, she realized, had somehow gotten his hands on information that only a handful of people were supposed to be privy to; information that he was now leveraging to advance whatever hidden agenda he had yet to divulge. To avoid falling further into the trap he’d so elegantly laid for her, she remained silent.

Walking away from their shared workstation, Blaise joined up with his housemates. Hermione noticed that Draco was delivering a glacial look in her direction while the girl from earlier remained glued to his side. Zabini waited until he was far enough away that everyone in the room had his attention before he added with a salacious smirk, “That flush on your cheeks is intoxicating, want to wager whether or not I can make it happen again?”

-

“If nothing else he’s persistent, mon chaton,” Fleur mused, flipping the page of the tome in front of her before quickly writing down notes on a piece of parchment that was nearly covered with her neat script. A muffliato charm allowed them to openly discuss Blaise’s antics over the last week - his tendency to weave undertones of debauchery into the mundane conversation during potions class, and more notably how he’d failed to mention Nicolas Flamel again since that first day.

With a playful smirk, she added, “And quite nice to look at, although it appears he only has eyes for you. It’s a shame he played his hand so early bringing up Monsieur Flamel, I almost want to assist him.”

Bellefeuille, the house the Fleur belonged to at their academy, was known for bravery and loyalty to their loved ones. It often resulted, much to Hermione’s frustration, in her friend taking in strays out of the goodness of her heart. Blaise's seemingly single-minded pursuit of her closest friend, whether it be strategic or romantic, had earned him a spot in Fleur’s mind as a worthy cause, and she didn’t hesitate to remind Hermione relentlessly of that fact.

“Tu es un menteur,” Hermione rebutted with a wave of her hand in dismissal as she sorted through the books littering their table. “For every look, he spares in my direction, he graces you with two. It should tell us everything we need to know that the action doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

Pointing out that even he wasn’t immune to Veela charm wasn’t fair, but she didn’t care as long as Fleur dropped the subject. They had larger issues to worry about, related to the reason they were spending a beautiful day cooped up in the stacks of the library.

A week ago, Fleur’s name had been selected by the Goblet of Fire to represent Beauxbatons in the Triwizard Tournament. Members of Bellefeuille were all characteristically book smart, but Hermione had demanded they implement a strategy to guide their extra-curricular studies. Their first task was making short reference materials for magical creatures that may be present during the tournament, as it historically included many different types.

“Besides, he’s much too crass. The importance of subtlety is-“

“Often underestimated,” Fleur cut her off with a slightly mocking tone, twisting a lock of honey blonde hair around her index finger. “Now, tell me more about the merpeople.”

Conversation halted when for the third time in as many minutes, a small herd of girls scrambled by the makeshift workstation that Hermione had begun referring to as their strategic base. Sets of both powder blue and black robes flitted around the library, giggling as they passed unsuspecting study groups, obviously searching for something - or better yet, someone.

The Durmstrang champion was the recipient of an almost cult-like obsession amongst the female students of all of the schools attending the TriWizard Tournament. Beyond his celebrity status as a professional quidditch player at such a young age, his broad shoulders and athletic build only added to the sharp features of his face. Although he was not traditionally handsome, he was attractive none-the-less and his elusive nature only added to his universal appeal.

“It’s a shame that Viktor can’t seem to find a companion that isn’t likely to dose him with a love potion,” Hermione remarked with one side of her mouth moving upward into a smirk.

Fleur’s cerulean eyes scanned Hermione’s face, eyes flickering over the freckles that crossed the bridge of her nose, “Perhaps he should try for the young woman who could brew him an antidote from memory instead.”

“Perhaps he could be so lucky,” the curly-headed witch replied coolly before focussing once again on the book in front of her. Thestrals, after all, were quite an enigma to her and she didn’t have much time to continue researching before her meeting with Professor Snape after dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a Beta reader, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Rough French to English translations:
> 
> mon chaton - my kitten, used as a term of endearment  
> Tu es un menteur - you are a liar
> 
> Thanks for the kudos: WailFin, krankykittie, Lakelady, lily_rose78, mhernandez5, SRAKBAR, Anthraquinblue, juggernacht, xabier, chindeevee, MadMadameA, SakuraCerejeira, vivimama1, Ardentlyadmired, RidetheRain, Skinyl, LovelyLittleNothing, shoesoffplease, CTD0703, MaddelenaBlack, and Monycia78
> 
> & huge thanks to the people who left comments on the first 2 chapters - we'll have (at minimum) weekly updates from this point forward. If inspiration strikes, it may be more frequent!


	4. Monsieur Krum

She had strategically selected her seat in the Great Hall for dinner that evening. Evangaline had teased that Hermione must have stolen some of Fleur’s Veela charm for the evening, her hair charmed to hold its chestnut curls in effortless ringlets and confidence projecting from her like waves. Hermione looked down the long table they were seated at and noticed the contrast between the shade of blue belonging to their uniforms compared to that of the Ravenclaws they joined for meals, not responding to the complement from her classmate beyond a bow of her head in acceptance. 

“Are you finally ready to help us show these deprived men the allure of Beauxbaton ladies?” Evangaline’s airy voice asked across the table. Hermione’s only reply was the smirk that adorned her normally passive face. That was, after all, her intention, and there was no reason to hide it from the girls surrounding her. 

Another classmate, a dark haired beauty named Lauren, giggled like a 3rd-year and covered her face with a dainty hand, “Poor boys, they won’t know what hit them.”

Carefully unfolding a cream colored napkin before laying it onto her lap, smoothing away the wrinkles with a steady hand, Hermione looked up with a feigned innocent expression, “Whatever do you mean? I’m just trying to maintain our image as proper Beauxbaton students.”

Heads of ebony, scarlet, and honey looked at her with expressions that screamed that they didn’t believe the easy lie she was telling and that they wanted details. The small feast that lay before them was irrelevant when potential plotting was afoot, especially the kind that involved garnering the attention of unsuspecting young men. Fleur raised a single eyebrow, resting her chin onto her fisted hand, daring Hermione to tell them more. She looked like the statue of a Grecian goddess, like Aphrodite had been reincarnated into the slim body of a young French woman. 

She was likely curious as to why the brunette was entertaining the idea of interacting with anyone outside of her already established social circle. Relationships, to Hermione at least, were transactional. Sure, people tried to wrap their interactions up with pretty bows, but at the end of the day, unless a person had something to offer you, there was no reason to associate with them. It was a near sociopathic belief that she hadn’t always held, but following the backing of the Flamels she’d learned the hard way that if she wasn’t careful, people would give in to their innately selfish tendencies. 

Take until there was nothing left. Take without offering anything in return.

Take time, take resources, take advantage of her.

Take. Take. Take.

That was why she'd done everything in her ability to fade into anonymity over the past three years following the destruction of the Sorcerer’s Stone. It was honestly remarkable how quickly people forgot who she was attached to once Monsieur and Madame Flamel had exited the world; most likely because the sycophants that she’d met during her relationship with the couple had only referred to her as Flamel’s apprentice, never asking her name. They’d refused to give her any sense of separation from the couple who’d given her so much. 

This trend was the reason why one of the alchemist’s final wishes was for Madame Maxime and Albus Dumbledore to help Hermione expand her educational pursuits based on her own merits and not his. At the time she’d questioned the necessity of including the Hogwarts Headmaster; now she abhorred it, given that his loose lips were the likely culprit behind Zabini’s discovery. 

As if the Slytherin knew where her trail of thoughts had wandered, she felt Blaise’s eyes on her without having to turn and face him. Her long fingers tightened around the edge of the dining hall table as a current of irritation with a sliver of fear erupted in her chest. She’d weighed the likelihood of him exposing her secret to the masses for the public slight she was about to instigate, even performing arithmancy calculations earlier that evening, and had concluded she had more to gain than lose. 

“If we’re being technical, I guess I should say that there is one person in particular that I would like to make sure has the right idea of what Beauxbaton women have to offer while we’re visiting the Scottish foothills,” Hermione quipped, shrugging one of her shoulders like she hadn’t just dropped the beginning of a crumb trail for her sisters to try and decipher.

It was honestly almost comical how easy it was to get the information she’d been seeking between the hour that she’d left the library and when she’d entered the Great Hall. The question was simple: which student at Durmstrang, an institution known for its generous inclusions of dark magic in its curriculum, had the highest marks in defensive magic?

The answer had been surprising, considering that Hermione had assumed his athletic pursuits overshadowed his academic ones. Viktor Krum, the man, not boy, with dark hair cut close to his head and who’s masculine red uniform was always impeccable despite having to pry wandering hands of him constantly, stood high above the others in his defensive abilities. 

He was the person who was going to be the catalyst to her further development as a well rounded witch, the one who wouldn't be too timid to cross the imaginary line that stood between prim young women and dark magic, because he had never known a world where such information was kept behind a veil of morality. She only had to convince him that it would be worth it in the long run. 

“Fleur, do you think you could get Monsieur Krum to join us for a moment?” Hermione looked at her close friend, mischievous chestnut eyes meeting twinkling cerulean ones.

The delicate powder blue shawl on the blonde’s shoulders rippled as she shimmied in excitement. Evangeline’s straight porcelain teeth showed as she grinned widely and Lauren looked to the youngest girl in the group with respect. 

A majority of the heads in the dining area snapped toward the Beauxbaton quartet when Fleur stood up and appeared to float over to the Durmstrang champion who was sitting with his comrades toward the end of the table decorated in emerald green. Her kitten heels had barely made a noise as she crossed the room, a fact that Hermione normally wouldn’t have been able to discern with the low hum that seemed to constantly persist during meal times but was now apparent because the room was silent. It appeared that the public interaction between two TriWizard Champions was more interesting than discussing classes, because by the time Fleur had reached the Bulgarian you could have heard a wand drop. 

Fleur’s unnatural ability to bring even the fiercest of beasts to their knees was on display when Viktor erupted with a boisterous laugh less than a minute after she’d initiated conversation; it filled the Great Hall with a delicious tenor that seemed to echo into the silence that had developed. As if the spell had been broken, the room once again buzzed with that familiar undercurrent of sound. Krum stood up from his table and offered Fleur his arm as he escorted her back to them, toward what Hermione hoped would be the start to a mutually beneficial relationship between the two of them.

_It really didn't hurt _, she thought to herself, _that he was easy to look at. _____

____*\_ _ _ _

____Fleur waited to introduce her last, a deliberate attempt to make sure that his attention lingered longer on the brunette than it had any of the other ladies. With a flourish of her hand, she drew Viktor’s attention to her friend and stated with a smile, “And this, Monsieur Krum, is Hermione Granger. The brightest witch I’ve ever known, and someone I’m lucky to call my friend.”_ _ _ _

____“Her-my-owny?” His eyebrows drew together in concentration, attempting to pronounce her name correctly.The overabundance of vowels and unreasonable amount of syllables were a challenge that he was unlikely to overcome given his heavy Eastern-European accent._ _ _ _

____With a demeure smile Hermione stepped in, extending her hand to the green eyed addition for the customary kiss before offering, “Over the years I’ve learned that it’s a difficult name to say in any language other than English. Fleur calls me “kitten,” perhaps you’d like to keep that tradition?”_ _ _ _

____Viktor displayed all the markings of a young man who’d had traditions ingrained to him since childhood. He gracefully accepted her offered hand and gently placed his full lips to her knuckles before letting go and taking a seat on the bench directly across the table from her. With a curious expression, he turned back towards the aforementioned blonde who had taken the seat next to him, “Kitten, you say?”_ _ _ _

____Her best friend may have looked like Aphrodite, but she had the strategic mind of Athena. Hermione was reminded of that fact when she replied to the inquiry._ _ _ _

____“She’s effortlessly beautiful and cares for those she loves with a gentle but strong conviction, but I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of her claws when she’s crossed,” Fleur started to explain. The pause that followed was deliberate; she picked up her water and took a small sip before adding on with a casual tone. “I can think of a few reasons why she is the ideal companion given the current setting in which we find ourselves. Wouldn’t you say so, Viktor?”_ _ _ _

_____That beautiful devil. I laid the pretty trap but she shoved him into it; how Ombrelune of her. If this were wizard’s chess he’d be in check. ____ _ _ _

______Understanding flickered across his face, and he wet his full lips with a quick brush of his tongue. Despite her best intentions, Hermione’s attention was on those lips and not his eyes as he replied, “Well spotted, Miss Delacour.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The conversation at the table stalled. Confused, Hermione looked up and met the green eyes of Viktor Krum. Eyes that had just caught her staring at his lips for longer than was socially appropriate, eyes that winked at her, sending uncharacteristic butterflies off in her stomach. Now it was her scrambling for a mental foothold, put in check by her inability to remain objective. She visualized the intruders that and imagined herself ripping their colorful wings off as he directed his next words toward her. “My people’s word for kitten is kiska, but I feel like it may be more appropriate to wait and call you that after I’ve become worthy of the level of familiarity required to truly understand the reference.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Shall we begin this new endeavor by you escorting me to the potions classroom then?” Hermione questioned with a gentle tilt of her head. The movement sent her curls in motion with a grace that was made possible only by a plethora of charms she’d learned during her four years at Beauxbatons. Viktor couldn’t help but to be enchanted by them for a few seconds before righting himself and looking at her with the ghost of a smirk on his lips._ _ _ _ _ _

______Standing up, he surprised the entire Great Hall when his shiny black boots made contact with the tabletop, engrained athleticism allowing him to avoid the platters and goblets before he jumped down and stood before Hermione, extending his arm before responding in a casual tone that didn’t match the exuberance he’d just exhibited, “That shouldn’t be took much of a hassle, kroshka.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The word had multiple meanings; most people nowadays only associated it with its more popular use as a Russian term of endearment. It had another meaning though, bread crumb - like the crumbs that she’d laid down so carefully to lead them to this moment, like the ones she was continuing to lay as she directed her chaperone to walk the long way out of the Great Hall. A route that would force them to walk directly in front of the Slytherin table._ _ _ _ _ _

______Check mate._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have an amazing Beta reader; I'll update this note with her username once she gets an AO3 account. Basically she's amazing and catches all of my grammar mistakes, while still managing to help me make sure I'm moving the plot forward. 
> 
> Next chapter things get interesting, but for now let's enjoy Viktor Krum.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments & to the following people for kudos: Jasmett, marie_tesla, Msmalloryreads, PinkGuildKnight, konohakid, bookworm_20, Callidora, swanqueenshipper, OptimisticPessimistic13, Niclaire, allicat911, Sayitagainsam, bunniez, barry1015, Caoimhe, slytherinserpentine, tweeveers, ArreisShevelle, 16egp13, ShadowedScribblings, KittyCatCanCan, Theia_black, KaylaNickel93, cacg, aaantoine, whisperofthevoice, mionepls, Maraaadschmps, WailFin, krankykittie, Lakelady, lily_rose78, mhernandez5, SRAKBAR, Anthraquinblue, juggernacht, xabier, chindeevee, MadMadameA, SakuraCerejeira, vivimama1, Ardentlyadmired, RidetheRain, Skinyl, LovelyLittleNothing, shoesoffplease, CTD0703, MaddelenaBlack, and Monycia78


	5. Jealousy isn't a flattering shade of green

Blaise’s chocolate brown eyes were trained on her like a spotlight, watching as each step brought her and her chaperone closer to his seat at the Slytherin table. He was an unexpected development for her, and although the serpentine boy was cunning he was also unrefined, and his characteristic impulsiveness made him difficult to predict.

It wasn’t apparent yet what he wanted from her, but Hermione was certain of one thing - she didn’t need him, _he _needed _her _. At the end of the long to-do list that was kept in her mind, she added determining what he had to gain from holding the Flamel connection against her.____

____His strategy was honestly laughable, despite how endearing Fleur found it to be. It was obvious that he assumed attempting to fluster her with blatant displays of affection would eventually lead to her folding to whatever endgame he was working towards. If she was going to use Viktor as an educational resource, it wouldn’t hurt to also utilize him to prove a point to Blaise. Hermione needed to remind the Slytherin that she was the one who held the power in whatever dynamic they were developing - _if _they were developing one at all.___ _ _ _

______“It appears that you have an admirer who is jealous that you’re on my arm this evening,” Viktor mused in a low voice without making eye contact with her, appearing ambivalent about their interaction to the world. His words ended her internal debate about the younger man, returning her focus onto the primary task ahead of her - establishing a connection with the Durmstrang champion._ _ _ _ _ _

______She focused her attention on the stone flooring that her kitten heels currently clicked on before realizing that her body language was exhibiting submission. Quickly righting herself, her line of sight shifted toward those chocolate brown eyes that still hadn’t left her. “It’s rather presumptuous of you to assume there’s something to be jealous of,” she replied, copying his casual mannerisms._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Are you insinuating that there isn’t? Even Headmaster Karkaroff has mentioned you in regards to your magical talents after he lectured in Defense Against the Dark Arts last week. That is one of the main reasons why I was willing to come and visit your table this evening,” he replied with a gently mocking tone while covering the hand that she had comfortably tucked into his elbow with his other. It was a rather forward gesture for their first encounter and it shocked her for a moment. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to Hermione’s normally cool temperature._ _ _ _ _ _

______Hermione looked at him with her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Karkaroff hadn’t said a word to her when she’d used NEWT level spells against her dueling opponent, the rather uninspiring ginger she’d later learned was named Ron Weasley. She seriously doubted that he would have mentioned her to a student of his after seeming rather unimpressed with her display of magic. Condensation dripped off her words as she countered, “Monsieur Krum-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Please call me Viktor.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______His interruption caused her to draw in a sharp breath and her jaw to slack slightly in surprise with a sharp intake of breath. First names were meant for close friends and family; in the wizarding world, a person’s last name defined them. Hermione felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, or nervousness, she wasn’t quite able to pinpoint the emotion. A ghost of a smile appeared on Viktor’s face, and she realized that her reaction was exactly what he’d wanted when the left corner of his mouth slowly moved upward and caused a dimple to appear on his cheek. The crimson fabric of his school uniform was soft, but when her hand involuntarily flexed at the sight of this man looking at her with a twinkle in his deep green eyes she discovered that the muscle that it covered was firm._ _ _ _ _ _

______Hermione lifted her left hand and placed it onto his bicep gently, attempting to gain back any semblance of control of their interaction, “I’m sure you’re aware that giving me permission to call you by your first name could be taken as an offer of courtship. I’ll politely decline, but would be remiss to not remind you that’s a rather laissez-faire attitude for a pureblood heir to possess.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“ _Kroshka _, I am just the spare. My brother is the one bound by those archaic customs,” he explained, keeping his intoxicating gaze on hers before throwing her off balance again. “It’s rather hypocritical that you were well on your way to chastising me for insinuating that a connection with you would be a great benefit to any witch or wizard; after all, isn’t that what you plan on using me for?”___ _ _ _ _ _

________Years of practice allowed her to keep her expression flat, not showing any evidence that he was spot on in her assessment of her intentions. Begrudgingly, her respect for the older student grew at his direct approach in addressing his beliefs. Those damn eyes still hadn’t broken eye contact with hers and she couldn’t determine if she felt so unsettled because she’d been found out or because she’d never wished to be the recipient of such attention._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“If I was honest and didn’t deny that fact, would you think less of me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They were less than three meters away from the group of Slytherins she’d set them on this path to encounter. Viktor slowed their pace slightly allowing him to turn his head and lean down toward her ear before replying, “I’ve always found great benefit in being direct about my intentions, and I’d very much like for you to feel like you can be honest with me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Her breath caught at the potential implications of her words, considering the fact that he’d so plainly brought up calling him by his given name. Regardless of whether or not he was “bound by archaic customs,” he knew that courtship customs were well established and the weight of the simple request held. She wondered briefly if he knew wordless charms, a work of magic being the only logical explanation for the uncharacteristic weightlessness she felt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Viktor briefly squeezed her hand, bringing her focus back on the original intention of their route. The look of indignation plastered on Blaise’s face told her everything she needed to know - he didn’t appreciate having to acknowledge that he wasn’t completely in control and the fact that she’d established that by publicly connecting herself to a TriWizard Champion and Quidditch player only rubbed salt in the wound._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There were many awful things that she associated with Albus Dumbledore, but there was one semi-admirable trait that she was striving to emulate in this moment - his ability to cut a person down and then extend to them a compliment insinuating the slightest inclination of importance, making them feel as though any perceived slight was completely unintentional all while entangling their sense of self-worth with the casual compliments he threw their way when most convenient for him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________With an intentionally soft smile, her voice was friendly as she remarked, “Blaise, I noticed that you were using OWL level charms during class this week. If you’d like to exchange some upper-level spells before the lecture with Professor Flitwick tomorrow, I’ll be in the courtyard at half-past nine.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________For the first time since she stood up that evening, he stopped looking at her face and his gaze locked in on the joined hands of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students standing before him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Alone? Or would there be company?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________To his credit, Viktor at least attempted to cover his snort with a cough, whereas Draco let out a clearly disgusted scoff at the jealousy dripping off his friends' questions. Compared to the blatant confidence that she’d witnessed while looking into Viktor's eyes, Blaise’s were filled with suspicion and doubt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Hermione casually shrugged her shoulder, not directly addressing his question before pushing the dagger in further, “Jealousy isn’t a flattering shade of green for a Slytherin, Blaise.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Really mate, your desperation is disgusting. Please stop subjecting us to it,” Draco quipped, the raven-haired girl who was perpetually attached to his side laughing at his dig._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Hermione pinched Viktor’s side to put a stop to his quiet laughter when she heard a low growl of frustration rumble out of Blaise’s chest. His words were clipped when he responded, “If it’s just the two of us, I’ll be there. Otherwise, there’s some research I need to do about some ancient alchemical theories.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A shortsighted attempt at coercion, but one that worked to Hermione’s advantage. In his frustration, Blaise had once again played his hand too early and all she had to agree to was a mid-morning review session - hardly a hassle when it would give her the ability to dig into his motivations._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She started walking away from the Slytherin table, Viktor’s steps in perfect tandem with hers. She waited until she was a few meters away before looking back over her shoulder and replying to Blaise, who had predictably been watching her as she left. “Perhaps you could bring the alchemy theories with you. My curriculum actually includes a course on the subject, unlike your institution.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Hermione didn’t let her gaze linger long enough to see his reaction to her throwing his underhanded comment back at him. Instead, she turned to face forward again as Viktor led her out of the Great Hall and down the corridor toward the potions dungeon._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________*\_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________In the privacy of the lower-level corridors, Viktor dropped his arm from the position of formal escort and instead opted to slip his fingers in between hers. She was thankful for the dim lighting as she felt the blush from earlier blossom once again on her cheeks when he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“So, what’s your goal here?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She sighed, “I want you to teach me the dark magic you’ve learned at Durmstrang.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________For the first time since he’d entered her presence, he genuinely looked surprised, before schooling his expression and replying, “Your honesty is refreshing in a society that so commonly attempts to disguise its true intentions. I’ll show you what I know if you help me with the tournament tasks.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Hermione pulled away from him when she heard the all too familiar sweep of long robes against the ground. She turned and watched as a moment passed and Professor Snape rounded the corner behind them, a scowl on his face, “Miss Granger, I’d appreciate it if you stopped making a spectacle of my house with your cat and mouse games.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He passed by them, not caring to wait for a response and instead barging into the potions room. Not wanting to keep the Potions Master waiting, she pulled away from Viktor and looked at him, unguarded, in an attempt to show him that she was being genuine with her words. She suspected the slight tick in his jaw was an indication that he wanted to ask more questions about her request but was holding back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Perhaps he understood that trust needed to be earned, and she was giving as much as she could, given that they’d only truly met less than an hour ago._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“As long as it doesn’t put Fleur in danger, I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to Serpent_and_Sage - without her the grammar would be so bad, you wouldn't even both to read.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR THE KUDOS & the lovely comments: La_di_ma, moonymar, GeekyByNature, bitchwitchchicsxx, SiberiaWolf, torimod, literaryknowitall, randomcrazyqueen, Piikashu, KalopsiaWitch, ladynightangel, MelodyTheKitten, Emmabean, Maybiesaydie, Nichola_89, Roses_rougesetblanches, ReaderGirl721, WarofHormonesssss, inthemindofadany, everblossom, xstewnson, HerDudeness, anmash13, LadyHethe, MissRowdy, december_noon, marissa972, RedBlueCrazy, LadyAlaura, Mary_K13, BlueBoxOfChances, Jasmett, marie_tesla, Msmalloryreads, PinkGuildKnight, konohakid, bookworm_20, Callidora, swanqueenshipper, OptimisticPessimistic13, Niclaire, allicat911, Sayitagainsam, bunniez, barry1015, Caoimhe, slytherinserpentine, tweeveers, ArreisShevelle, 16egp13, ShadowedScribblings, KittyCatCanCan, Theia_black, KaylaNickel93, cacg, aaantoine, whisperofthevoice, mionepls, Maraaadschmps, WailFin, krankykittie, Lakelady, lily_rose78, mhernandez5, SRAKBAR, Anthraquinblue, juggernacht, xabier, chindeevee, MadMadameA, SakuraCerejeira, vivimama1, Ardentlyadmired, RidetheRain, Skinyl, LovelyLittleNothing, shoesoffplease, CTD0703, MaddelenaBlack, and Monycia78


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